


A Bloom of Truth

by nsowlwrites97



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows, Character Study, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsowlwrites97/pseuds/nsowlwrites97
Summary: In Arthur’s dreams, Merlin’s eyes were golden.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 175





	A Bloom of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of just flowed out of me all in one sitting a few days ago, and I liked how it turned out, so here it is!

In Arthur’s dreams, Merlin’s eyes were golden.

The first time he dreamt it, he woke suddenly. He lay there for some time, staring up at the dark canopy, until slowly the fact that it had been a dream, and not a memory, filtered through to his conscious mind. He huffed a short, relieved laugh at himself and turned onto his side.

Deep in his chest, the unease remained, and the rest of his sleep that night was fitful.

The second time, the dream was more intense, more violent. He didn’t wake as quickly. Instead he watched, helpless, as Merlin blasted away bandit after bandit, and then turned to him with burning eyes. Arthur shrank away from him, from this man who looked nothing like Merlin, even though he had his face and clothes and hair. He woke with the image of Merlin’s fiery gaze seared onto his vision.

He didn’t look for Merlin across the remains of the campfire. Instead he stared up at the stars, and wondered why his mind would come up with such a nightmare.

The third time the dream was completely mundane. It could have been a memory of that very morning, or any morning. Arthur watched himself throw a pillow at Merlin, watched Merlin dodge it and insult him, watched as they moved into orbit around each other, a well-practiced dance. The whole time, Merlin’s eyes blazed a gold so pure it was almost blinding.

When Merlin really did wake him, Arthur was almost surprised to see that his eyes were blue.

The fourth time, Arthur watched Merlin light a fire after just a couple of strikes with the flint, and the blaze of flame seemed to illuminate his eyes. Merlin looked up, starting slightly when he saw Arthur watching him. Arthur gave him a nod and turned away, ignoring the oddly relieved look on his servant’s face.

This wasn’t a dream. Arthur even tried pinching himself to make sure.

He decided he had imagined it.

The dreams came more frequently after that.

Many of them were memories, but tilted, like someone had changed the angle of Arthur’s vision so that he was watching from outside of himself. He saw Merlin, his eyes flashing. A bandit would trip over thin air, a sausage would fly off his plate, a wound would heal faster than expected. Each time he woke he would try to rationalize the dream, to explain to himself what had really happened. But there were so many gaps, so many little inconsistencies that he had always let slide because they had never seemed important. They had never seemed to mean anything.

Now they seemed to mean everything. 

Arthur found himself watching Merlin more closely. He didn’t mean to, didn’t make a conscious decision to do so, but no matter how many times he forced his eyes away they were always drawn back, as if by a magnetic pull. He caught the whispered word when Merlin started a fire now, or the flick of his fingers before a lucky rockfall. He noticed the odd disappearances, the inexplicable bouts of sorrow, and, once or twice, the careful concealment of an injury.

His dreams began to run wild, creating scenarios out of thin air that Arthur wanted to dismiss as utterly insane when he woke, but that instead lodged as shards of fear in his chest. He saw Merlin and his blazing eyes fighting Morgana, and losing; he saw Merlin meeting with hooded strangers in the dead of night, speaking in murmurs that Arthur couldn’t hear; he saw Merlin facing down wyverns and griffins and immortal armies entirely on his own.

They were just dreams, Arthur reminded himself forcefully. They weren’t real. They didn’t represent reality. There had to be a more rational explanation for all the incongruities that seemed to follow Merlin like a cloud.

But Arthur didn’t have his head so deep in the sand that he failed to recognize when he was lying to himself.

Still, he did nothing. If Merlin had been planning on hurting him, he would have done so a long time ago.

The next time Gaius told him Merlin had gone to the tavern, Arthur returned to his chambers. He didn’t sleep, and instead sat staring into the fire until the early hours of the morning, when Merlin came to wake him. Arthur ignored the flood of relief that rushed through him, and deflected Merlin’s concern at finding him already awake and looking so pensive by ordering him to polish the armor he’d clearly been too busy to take care of the previous evening. Merlin grumbled but took his leave, and Arthur was grateful that he didn’t press the issue.

He had to say something, he knew. Merlin could get himself killed thinking he still needed to do whatever it was he did alone, and Arthur would never forgive himself if that happened.

That night, he dreamt of fire.

He watched as the pyre was built in the courtyard, as it was completed far more quickly than he could ever remember it being done. He watched as the people gathered below him, waiting for the execution of the sorcerer. He watched as Merlin was led out and tied to the stake.

Arthur could feel Gaius’ eyes on him, and Guinevere’s, and Gwaine’s, could sense the hatred and the betrayal and the disgust they felt towards him. He didn’t look at them, couldn’t summon the courage to meet their gazes.

Merlin looked up at him then, his expression defiant yet sad, fearless and yet regretful. He seemed to speak a thousand words without making a single sound.

His eyes were blue.

Arthur choked on the smoke when it reached him. He stumbled backwards, away, trying in vain to escape the smell, the _screams_ , and he gasped, heaving in great lungfuls of suddenly clean air. He opened his eyes and was met with the familiar sight of the canopy of his four-poster bed.

Arthur closed his eyes and fought down the nausea. The man he’d been in his dream… it wasn’t him. But it very easily could have been. It was the man his father would have wanted him to be.

He brought up the issue at the next council meeting. Some of the council argued with him, speaking of the evils of magic, but others, more than he had expected, thought there was merit in the idea of loosening the restrictions. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on him, saw the indecipherable expression on his face when he looked at him. Arthur held his gaze, and Merlin swallowed before blinking and looking away.

Merlin was quiet that night when he brought Arthur’s dinner. Arthur let him putter about, performing useless tasks. He watched as again and again Merlin opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it without saying anything. Arthur wondered if it was cowardly of him, not to bring up the subject himself. But some part of him knew that this was Merlin’s step to take. When Merlin left that evening with only a “Good night, sire,” Arthur swallowed down his disappointment.

There were two more council meetings that week, during which the subject of magic was discussed again. Arthur didn’t miss the way Gaius shot pointed looks at Merlin, his eyebrow raised. Merlin fidgeted under the scrutiny, refusing to meet Gaius’ eyes, and jumped or stiffened every time he saw Arthur looking at him.

The evening after the second council meeting, Arthur emerged from behind his changing screen, ready to climb into bed, only to find Merlin standing stock-still before him. He was staring down at his hands as if they held the answers he was looking for, and Arthur didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. Instead he waited, silently pleading for Merlin to trust him.

Eventually, Merlin looked up and met his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He searched Arthur’s face, and Arthur waited patiently, wondering if what Merlin was really doing was gathering his courage.

Merlin’s eyes cleared, determined now instead of conflicted. He moved toward the fireplace, and Arthur followed.

A quick glance at Arthur, a whispered word, and a dragon glittered in midair between them. It flapped its wings, making a circle around their heads before dissolving in a shower of embers. Arthur looked back at Merlin in time to see the gold fading from his eyes.

The unease that had accompanied his dreams was gone now, along with the fear, the distress, even the worry. In their place was hope and peace, love and trust, all of which he could see reflected back at him in Merlin’s eyes. He smiled and shook his head, wanting to laugh at the both of them, and Merlin grinned in return.

“So…” Merlin began.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, and pulled him in.

**Author's Note:**

> I realized this was a Merthur story about part-way through writing it, and I’ve never attempted one before, so I hope I did them justice! Let me know what you thought!


End file.
